It's a strange thing. As the Grand National start is just a few minutes away, the television people naturally try to crank up excitement to fever pitch - but for those actually involved, the excitement is not of the common kind. None of the fizzing, bubbling, “let's get at 'em” stuff.

Instead, one person after another solemnly tells the microphones and the world: “I just hope he comes back safe.” Which is a strange response to the great event of the year, or of your life. I think the rest of us are entitled to ask: if you are so concerned about the safety of horses and jockeys, why get involved in the Grand National?

It is tempting to point out: my dear chap, the solution is in your hands. If you wish nothing but safety for your horse and its rider, you can withdraw from the race right now. Running in the Grand National is not compulsory. But no one drops out; everyone starts; not everyone finishes.

Therein lies the great mystery of the extreme horsey sports. You prepare horse and rider for danger and yet all you want is their safety. But you still want them to run. This ineffable contradiction is something felt by everyone involved. It's beyond logic, beyond sense. The Grand National is an event beyond reason.

But I understand. I have felt the same things before riding in cross-country events. All you want is for someone to cancel the event and tell you that you are not running and you and your horse will be safe for evermore. All the time you know that if you weren't allowed to run, you'd be incandescent with fury and disappointment.

Horses are willing partners in the shared drama of high and swift sporting challenges. Believe me, you really can't get half a tonne of horse to jump 30-odd fences in a row without some degree of co-operation. Horse and rider reach a strange, elevated state; both are excited beyond common sense and yet at the same time strangely detached and clear-headed.

I write this column, as I usually do, after feeding and turning out four horses of my own. And I watch the Grand National, as I do every year, as if it were the finale of a film that you can hardly bear to watch, yet you can't tear your eyes from. The falls to me are things of pure visceral horror. Of all the events in sport, I think riding in the Grand National would be the most intoxicating and, given such things as horse, skill, courage and youth, it's what I would most like to do.

But Lord, I wouldn't like to see a horse of mine do it. Do I contradict myself? Very well, I contradict myself. That is the nature of the race and of horse-people.

Johnno is ideal head, but don't mention his brow

It seems that we are to have Martin Johnson as head coach or manager of the England rugby union team. This is thrilling news, particularly when you consider his track record as a coach. He hasn't got one. He was a great player, an inspirational leader and he took England to victory in the World Cup. But is that enough?

Here are a few pieces of advice. Don't get into a fight with Johnson, don't tell Johnson he's wrong, don't write in The Times that Johnson has a Cro-Magnon brow-ridge and don't challenge Johnson to a sports quiz. I have only made one of those mistakes myself, by the way.

Johnson is aware that there is the best precedent from going straight from playing the game as World Cup-winning captain to managing the national team. This is, of course, Franz Beckenbauer, the footballer, who won the World Cup as a player in 1974 and in his first job as a manager in 1990. Only one other player has won the World Cup in both capacities*. So it can be done.

The only question is whether Johnson is as remarkable a person as Beckenbauer, and that seems to me a possibility worth investigating.

*As Johnno will no doubt tell you, this is Mario Zagallo, of Brazil, who won the World Cup as a player in 1958 and 1962 and as a manager in 1970.

Words of Wisden offer some weighty reading

The greatest thing about Wisden Cricketers' Almanack is its bulk. Its dumpy, almost cubic shape has the most wonderful and absurd gravitas. The 2008 edition, serialised in The Times from today, contains 1,680 pages. This is not 1,680 pages on the entire history of cricket, only last year. And as every editor will tell you, the problem is not filling the pages but deciding what to leave out.

Although most of the people who write the words, and probably a good few of the statisticians, have a reasonable perspective on life and are able to keep at least some of the ironies intact, every Wisden is a ridiculously portentous thing. It's usually referred to as cricket's bible; any trace of facetiousness has long since rubbed off.

There are a lot of jokes in Wisden's actual text, but it's the size and the weight that get to you: 1lb 10oz, or about 700g. Cricket possesses its heavyweight Book of Life, in which the deeds of heroes and villains are recorded. The weight of this volume genuinely adds to the weight of the deeds themselves, setting them apart, adding a mythological depth and resonance to them. Wisden's solemn chronicling of Time gives cricket a meaning that other sports cannot emulate.

Arsenal's wish for an easy life leaves the club soft at heart

Now I know why Arsenal aren't going to win the Barclays Premier League or the FA Cup. It's because other teams don't play properly. I have this on the authority of Cesc Fàbregas, the wonderful Arsenal midfield player. After their FA Cup fifth-round tie last season, he asked Mark Hughes, the Blackburn Rovers manager, if he really had played for Barcelona because Blackburn had played with so little ambition. And after Arsenal's draw against Liverpool on Saturday, Fàbregas said: “Just because the other team refuses to play doesn't mean we have to do the same thing.”

In other words, Fàbregas - and Arsenal - believe that opposition teams have a moral obligation to play the kind of football that suits Arsenal. And that, precisely, is the softness at their heart.

I remember playing for mighty Tewin Irregulars and falling out with a team who believed the same thing. We lost our best batsmen and then blocked for a draw. The opposition believed that we should have “gone for it” and lost. They thought that we had betrayed our obligations to sport.

We had done the opposite; we made the best use of our talents. So did Blackburn, so did Liverpool. It is important to make winning difficult; how else can we value it? And how can we appreciate a sporting genius if opponents make it easy for him?

A thought to remember as the next round of the Liverpool-Arsenal series takes place tomorrow in the Champions League.

Cracking the whip

I have been impressed by my colleague Lydia Hislop's courageous stuff written on the use of the whip in horse racing. But I really do think it's time she broadened her scope. What about excessive use of the whip in Formula One?